Pages Between
by offthemap
Summary: In the stories, the Champion is strong, brave, and never doubts. Her companions are loyal and never question her. The hero only ever does the wrong thing for the right reasons. But what about the spaces between the stories? Much focus on Fenris and Hawke
1. Chain of Command

NOTE: All characters and settings belong to Bioware.

Author note: After recruiting Fenris, I couldn't help but think the body-guard slave turned distrustful fugitive probably had some trouble playing well with others.

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><p>Hawke crawled back through the brush to her companions, careful to keep her litany of curses in her head as she scooped copious amounts of sand into her armor with every movement. Giving a little hop to try to shake the sand loose, she eyed her companions. "Alright, ladies and gentleman," she smiled at her team members, "there are a few more Tal-Vashoth there than we'd anticipated, so, we're going to have a bit of a change of plan."<p>

"How many more?" Fenris's question was pointed.

"Oh, you know how I am with numbers," Hawke waved a hand dismissively, crouching down to begin sketching something on the sand, "Beth, I want you to stand up on the top. See how many you can turn into icicles before they get to the rest of us. Whatever you do-"

"Hawke."

She looked up, fixing Fenris with a piercing glance, and sighed, "Twelve. There are twelve of them. One of them's one of their mages. I'll be trying to take him out. Happy?"

"No." Still, the Tevinter elf relaxed, listening to Hawke's plan in silence. He suppressed his scowl when Hawke put him in charge of keeping their enemies off of her sister, but didn't bother to contradict their leader, simply concentrating on readying his mind for the coming battle.

This was going well, Hawke reflected, ripping her blade out of the back of one of the huge Tal-Vashoth. She was springing up and flipping out of the way of the blade swinging at her before she even registered its presence, feeling the blade bite into the heel of her boot as she used it to kick off.

She was still in the air when she heard Bethany's pained scream. Spinning, the rogue located her sister on the top of the dune, desperately fending off the heavy blows of one of the Tal-Vashoth as she scrambled backwards. With a rogue's awareness of the battlefield, she knew the pirate was closer, fighting somewhere behind her back. "Isabela! Help Bethany!"

Her own opponent's blade swung down at her again, and she leapt up, trying to get behind the huge form to finish it off quickly. Did Fenris fall? Why wasn't the elf protecting her sister? As she fell, she spared a moment to glance around the battlefield, spotting the warrior facing off against the leader of the Tal-Vashoth, farther away from Bethany than any of them.

"Get down!" It was Isabela's voice, and Bethany let out another scream. There was a crack and the smell of ozone and smoke in the air as the mage reached out with lightning, then fire.

Burying one of her blades in the back of her opponent's neck, Hawke felt it lodge against giant vertebrae, and she couldn't pull it loose as she sprang away. Leaving it for now, she dashed towards where she could see the pirate standing over her fallen sister. The sand gave way under her feet as she struggled up the hill, lungs and muscles burning. Swapping her single blade to her strong hand, she pushed off with her strong legs to cross the remaining distance in a single leap.

She and Isabela then had the Tal-Vashoth whirling between them, roaring in fury as he threw off one rogue, only to have the other score a hit on a leg, or in the heavy muscles of his back. Somewhere behind them, Fenris's opponent gave a roar of pain and fury that ended quickly.

"Hawke!" He'd apparently finally seen the battle taking place atop the dune. One of her feet slipped in the sand and she went down on one knee, automatically reaching up to cross her blades and catch the sword coming for her. Except she only held one blade, and instead threw herself to the ground to get a few more feet of clearance. From that vantage point, she had the view of Fenris appearing above her in a flash of lyrium, moving faster than the eye could see and still managing to place one foot neatly on either side of her head, preventing her from moving back any farther.

A drop of sweat hit her forehead as Fenris stood above her, holding the Tal-Vashoth blade away from them both. Then, there was a harsh gurgle, and one of Isabela's blades bloomed from their final opponent's throat. Dropping his sword, Fenris grabbed Hawke by the neck of her armor, pulling them both back and out of the way as the Tal-Vashoth fell first to his knees, then to the ground with a force that shook them.

"Are you alright, Hawke?" Fenris was panting; she could feel his breath on the top of her head.

"Bethany!" She ignored him, shoving herself up at the expense of an elbow in Fenris's ribs.

Isabela was already crouched over the mage, pressing a folded cloth to a bleeding gash across Bethany's chest, "Come on, honey," she was crooning, fishing out a potion and uncorking it with her teeth.

Hawke crawled over, using her hands to slow the bleeding and leaving Isabela to pour the potion down her sister's throat. She felt the shadow of Fenris behind her, but ignored the elf in favor of her sister, "Come on, Bethany. Beth. Mum will kill me if I don't get you home. Come on." Her hands were saved from trembling by the pressure she was putting on the bandage.

The younger girl's cough was the most beautiful sound Hawke had ever heard, even if it did come with a splatter of spit and healing potion onto her face. "Mari?"

"'atta girl," Isabela stroked Bethany's hair. "Think we can get you home now?"

Trying to breathe shallowly against the pain of her wound, Bethany nodded, "Help me up." She pushed herself up weakly with her good arm.

Still kneeling on the ground, Hawke said, very quietly, "Fenris, are you hurt?"

"I am unharmed," the elf said, a trace of pride in his voice at having escaped unscathed.

"Good. You can carry Bethany." Pushing herself to her feet, she went to her previous kill, putting her foot on the creature's head and ripping the blade out from between the bones in his neck. The blade was nicked, she noted, a distant part of her mind cursing the need to buy a new one. Isabela was riffling quickly through the pockets of their victims, and even she was being less thorough than usual.

Fenris was supporting Bethany on one side, and Hawke glided in to the other, smiling at her sister encouragingly as she hooked an arm around her waist to help hold her up.

"Aw, honey, they broke your little stick," Isabela bent to pick up the shattered remains of Bethany's staff.

Another piece of equipment they'd need to replace. They walked in painful silence for a short while before Fenris shifted uncomfortably under Bethany's arm, "Hawke?"

"Where were you?" Her voice was cold, and she didn't look over, though only the width of her sister's narrow shoulders separated them.

"I was able to separate their leader. He put up more of a fight than I had anticipated."

Hawke gave a slight nod, falling silent again and still refusing to look at the elf. Behind them, Isabela let out a low whistle, "Someone's in trouble. Is there going to be a spanking?" Even the pirate's voice was a little tight.

"Let's not fight right now," Bethany's voice was breathy with pain, and groggy with the potions. "Just want to go home."

They walked in silence a few more minutes, until Bethany's feet slipped and she stumbled, crying out as her half-healed wound started to bleed again. "Stop." Hawke obeyed instantly, helping Fenris lower her sister to the ground. For a moment, the mage simply laid there, eyes closed. Then, a faint green glow covered her skin.

Fenris's lyrium lines flared to life and he sprang back with a hiss.

"There we go," Bethany said weakly, her wound knitting closed in a few heartbeats. Then, she promptly passed out.

"Andraste's tits," Hawke swore, brushing her sister's hair away from her face, "At least she could do that much. We're going to need to set up camp."

Isabela looked around, "It's too open here. That cave with the creepy crawlies we passed?"

Hawke nodded, reaching to scoop her sister up again, grunting at the suddenly dead weight.

"I have her," Fenris's lines were still fading, but he shouldered Hawke aside and scooped the mage up easily.

They spent that night huddled in a cave, waiting for Bethany to recover. No matter what Isabela did, she couldn't get her two conscious companions to speak, and finally, the pirate went off to stare at the water, muttering into a flask she'd had stored somewhere very creative.

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><p>She hadn't spoken to him in a week. There had been jobs; Fenris knew there had been jobs, but Hawke hadn't said a word to him. Even at the Hanged Man, she barely acknowledged his presence, concentrating only on her cards, or her drink, or whatever vulgar tale Isabela was spinning.<p>

It wasn't until Bethany came back, pulling him aside to thank him for carrying her up the coast that Hawke finally deigned to acknowledge his presence. Shoving her drink aside with enough force that only Isabela's ship-born reactions kept the mug from tumbling to the ground, Hawke stood. "Don't you dare thank him," she snarled at her sister, storming from the tavern.

With only a frustrated glance at Bethany, Fenris moved to follow her, gliding through the door even before it could shut.

Hawke's angry steps took her to the docks before Fenris finally stopped shadowing her and stepped up beside, "You are angry with me. You have been angry with me."

"You were supposed to watch her. I left you to watch her." Her blue eyes never left the water, and the breeze whipped her hair around her head.

"Their leader was alone; I had a chance to-"

"I don't care what you had a chance to do. I told you to watch my sister and you left her alone. She could have died, Fenris!"

"The mage-"

She whirled, and the motion was so swift and unexpected that her slap caught him full in the face, the flair of his lyrium in reaction lighting the whole area. "She's my si-" her words ended in a gasp as he caught her wrist in one of his clawed gauntlets, gripping tight enough that the small bones ground together.

"Never strike me," Fenris's voice was cold. "I saw an opportunity, and I took it. I am sorry your sister," his sneer was obvious in the fading blue light, "was injured. It happens."

"It wouldn't have happened if you'd listened to me. We had a plan, Fenris," she didn't struggle against his grip, concentrating on keeping the pain from her voice.

"I am not your slave, to follow your every whim. I have not traded Danarius for you, no matter that you are a prettier package."

Growling in frustration, she finally gave in to the urge to try to pull her wrist away, and he loosened his grip but did not release her, "Is Aveline my slave? Is Varric? Is Bethany?" Seeing his dark eyebrows draw together in confusion, Hawke pressed him, "No, but when they're following me, on my jobs, they listen to me. They follow my orders. If you can't handle that, I can't trust you at my back."

"And what will you do? Go without a swordsman?" Leaning closer, he pushed her back against the short wooden railing, "You are not that skilled, Hawke." He lowered her hand, but did not release her wrist, rather seeming to have forgotten he was holding it.

"I'll think of something. I can't put Bethany at risk like that again. I can't. I can't lose her, I- Fenris," the anger died, "I can't." The last was a choked whisper.

The sudden change in her tone brought him up short; he tilted his head, regarding her, "Why?"

"Why do you think I'm doing this?"

"I know you live in Lowtown. I assume you wish to move yourself somewhere more secure."

"Not me. Them. Fenris, this is all for them. They're all I have left; Beth, my mother, it's all for them. If I lose one of them, then it's all for nothing. If you can't help me do that, I'll find someone who can."

He was silent, staring at her under the moon, trying to meet her eyes through the drifting curtains of their hair. She was pressed hard against the splintered wood railing, back arched slightly as he kept her pinned there. Did he want her to trust him? It wasn't the first time he'd considered that, considered if he wanted her to come for him when she had a job. It would be easier to walk away, easier to make his own way. More profitable, too, he suspected, with Hawke's generosity and strict morals.

"You're hurting me."

"What?" He gave a start, looking at her in confusion.

She twitched her wrist again, and he released it as if he'd been burned. She didn't leave, however, merely reaching back and steadying herself on the railing. They were silent, staring at each other for a long minute, then she looked away, down at the rough planks. "I'm sorry I hit you."

He nodded, stepping away to put his hands on the railing, standing beside her for a moment. "I am not used to working with others. All I know how to do is fight alone."

"I know. But you have to try. If you want to stay with us."

The breeze shifted, and he caught the faint scent of Hawke's hair over the pervading stench of fish. It was a strangely comforting scent. Not flowery, but strong and subtle; his mind whispered that it was the smell of confidence, but he banished that ridiculous notion. If that is what he thought, it was only because it was her smell, her confidence. Finally, he vowed, "I will not let it happen again. I will follow where you lead."

Tension she hadn't known she was feeling drained from her, and she let out her breath in a long sigh, raising her bruised wrist to push her hair back from her face. Shoving herself off of the railing with a grunt, she nodded, "Good. I'd hate to have to start dragging Aveline with me on all my side-trips."

Fenris sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a movement too subtle to see by moonlight, "We shall be doing more questionable jobs, then?"

"Oh, that's not it." No light was needed to know that she was smirking; she was the first person Fenris had ever met who could smirk with her entire body, from the tilt of her head and stance of her feet, to the tone of her voice.

"Then what?" He was walking beside her as they left the filthy docks and their stench.

Slowing, Hawke leaned back to give him a smug look, "You have a much nicer ass." When he coughed, she laughed aloud.


	2. Unkept Promises

NOTE: All characters and settings belong to Bioware.

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><p>"Oh, this is nothing like a trap. Walking down a dark, empty alley to meet someone who just wants to give us something. I'll bet there will even be dinner at the end," Varric said, cheerfully enough as he followed behind Hawke.<p>

"I hope there are biscuits," Hawke answered cheerfully, "we haven't had biscuits in weeks."

"Oh! If you can find some flour, I can make the fluffiest bicuits. I tried to make some the other day, but all the flour in the alienage has those horrid little bugs in it," Merrill beamed at Hawke as she made the offer, still trying desperately hard to befriend the strange companions she'd found herself with.

Hawke didn't even shush the cheery bloodmage; she just continued down the darkened street, not bothering to be quiet. If this was an ambush, they would be walking right into it.

Yet it didn't seem to be a trap. The dwarf who had contacted her was standing calmly on the street, and he answered their questions easily enough. Still, something felt wrong, and she looked to Varric for advice and confirmation. His words did nothing to soothe her, and she shook her head. "No. We have other options."

The dwarf scoffed, promising to wait for their inevitable return. That settled it as much as any plans Hawke had had; she would not be doubted when she'd made a decision. "Come on," she said shortly, "we're going to the Hanged Man." Her strides lengthened, and Varric was huffing a little by the time they reached the tavern.

"Hawke, I don't know what you're planning on doing, unless you're finally taking Isabela up on her offers to do a tabletop show."

"We're calling that plan 'C'. Let's try plan 'B', first." There was a great advantage to the poor quality of the spirits available at the Hanged Man; they fit into even Hawke's budget. She waited until they were halfway through their first round before she reached into the neck of her armor, pulling out something hanging on a thick string around her neck. Gently, she placed it in front of the dwarf.

Varric eyed the ring on the table top for a moment before he let out a low whistle, "Well, Hawke, I'm flattered, but you know you humans are just all too tall."

"Ha. The way I figure it, we're 15 sovereigns short. How much do you think you can get for that? Your contacts are better than mine." She was staring into her mug, refusing to look at the ring on the table, or at the thick, dirty string, evidence of over a year in Kirkwall.

Bethany's hand went over her mouth, "I thought that was gone, you hadn't worn it." Her eyes were wide as she stared at the glittering sapphire that adorned the ring.

Isabela cooed with delight, reaching down to pluck the ring up, testing it on her finger, "Someone wanted in your pants, bad."

"It doesn't fit anymore. Varric, how much?"

Fenris's eyes followed the surprisingly brilliant jewel as Isabela flashed it casually. A distracted corner of his mind noted that it matched Hawke's eyes, though he couldn't place the significance of the ring.

"Marian, that ring is a promise. You can't just-"

Hake raised her hand, cutting her sister off sharply, "It's a promise that isn't going to be kept."

"You can't know-"

"Bethany." Hawke met her sister's gaze, shaking her head sharply. As always, the younger Hawke subsided under her command; they were all starting to, these days. "Varric," she said the dwarf's name a third time.

"Rivaini?" The dwarf held his hand out for the ring, and Isabela released it only reluctantly. Holding it up to the light, he considered the gem, turning it to look for imperfections. It was a lovely jewel, cut into a square that managed to look strong without looking unfeminine. The setting needed to be polished, but it was a bright, heavy gold. Doing the tallies in his head, Varric said, "I think we can get what we need. But, Hawke, are you sure you want to give this up?"

Hawke gave him a wry smile, "The oaf that gave it to me hasn't tracked me down yet. It serves no purpose around my neck, and I'll be hanged if I lose it because some stupid bandit ripped it off my neck. See what you can get. I'll meet you here tomorrow evening to see if we've gotten enough."

"You want to come with me when I sell this? Make sure I'm not cheating you?" The twinkle in his eye and the bravado never seemed forced with Varric.

"I'd appreciate it if you brought Bethany; she seems furious about it." Winking at her sister tiredly, Hawke asked, "Beth, should I be asking pointed questions about you and Joff?"

The mage stood up abruptly, and she held her sister's eyes for a long moment, "I don't want you to do this. We don't need you to do this. I'm not helping." She took the damaged, second-hand staff that they'd managed to pick up from some unsavory vender and stormed from the tavern.

Isabela had managed to retrieve the ring, and was studying it on her finger again. "Who was the nice man who thought he was going to be slipping this on and slipping something in, Hawke?"

Merrill had been watching the exchange silently, clutching a cup of the rather questionable water one could get at the Hanged Man. Finally, in a tone of frustration, she said, "What does a ring have to do with slipping something in somewhere?"

Turning to the elf, Isabela took the ring off. "A man gives a woman this," she held it up pointedly, "so he can do this," just as pointedly, she jabbed a finger through the ring. Just for good measure, she repeated the gesture. Merrill continued to stare at her in confusion.

Ignoring Isabela's explanation, Varric leaned over, giving Hawke a concerned look. "You sure about this, Hawke? That's a... nice ring."

Hawke's eyes were locked on it as Isabela waved it back and forth, but she whispered back, "I can't even put proper food on my family's table, Varric. You can't eat a sapphire." Finally meeting his eyes, she gave a wistful little smile, "Or memories of a dead love."

"Oh!" Merrill's cheery voice suddenly rang out, "It's a sex token. But I got a ring the other day..."

"That was functional," Isabela explained sagely, "it's only the ones that are just shiny that mean that."

Sighing, Hawke drained her mug, "Alright. Last round's on me. Who's in?" She glanced around the table, looking confused, "When did Fenris leave?"


	3. Recruiting

(All characters and settings and game references still belong to Bioware)

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><p>The clinic was in its usual precarious balance of filth and cleanliness. Hawke waited outside for a while, neither wanting to distract Anders while he was occupied, nor wanting to discuss things where his patients could hear. Taking up a position where she could count the comings and goings, she waited while the last of his current patients trickled out.<p>

A clean rag in his hands, Anders stuck his head out of the clinic, "If you're going to insist on scaring my patients away, I would appreciate some help cleaning up."

"How am I scaring anyone away?" Hawke looked offended, but she followed him into the clinic and took the rag he offered her.

"An intimidating woman wearing nasty knives and tapping her foot outside? I don't see why they weren't lining up tonight. Would you mind wiping that table down?" He nodded his head to the table he used for the healing that wasn't strictly magical.

Today, the bin on the side held a pair of arrowheads. Picking one up, she studied it curiously, turning it in the light. Frowning, she turned towards the apostate, "Anders?"

He turned to her with a smile, "You know; it's nice to not have to clean up alone."

She'd meant to ask if the shards of metal had come from a crossbow bolt- one of Bianca's, but found she didn't want to know. "I wouldn't mind stopping by once or twice a week; I still owe you for coming to see my mother," she said instead.

"Anytime, especially if she gives me a hot meal in exchange." He was re-rolling a partially-used roll of bandages.

Turning her attention to scrubbing the table with the cloth and the mostly clean water he'd left, Hawke considered how to broach the subject she'd really come there for. A sharp twinge to her ribs as she reached out too far was a very good reminder of why they were going to need a healer on their next mission, and she didn't want it to be Bethany. "We'll be leaving for the Deep Roads in a few days, you know."

Behind her back, she heard him setting down the bottles he'd been cleaning. "Is that why you came? To convince me to go with you?"

Hawke's head jerked around to face him, but his back was still to her. She couldn't even see his profile around those silly feathered shoulder pieces, but his voice had sounded almost wistful. "Well, yes. In my defense, I had a secondary question in mind!"

"I'm all ears," he said, dryly.

Leaning over, she pressed her free arm against her bruised ribs as she scrubbed the table, as if doing a particularly good job removing blood would convince him to risk his life for the nebulous chance of profit. "If you don't want to come... do you know of a good supplier for healing potions? I bought my contacts out."

Now she could hear him putting tools back into drawers behind her. "Your sister is a fine healer, just inexperienced. How much do you plan on getting hurt?"

"Bethany isn't coming." Her voice was firm.

Something in her tone drew Anders' attention, and he turned to watch Hawke for a moment. His eyes roamed her form as she rose up on tiptoes, bent over the table to reach the center. Before Justice could do more then give him a faint feeling of disapproval, he noticed the way she favored her left side.

"You're hurt." His voice was inflectionless.

"I am not!" His disapproving gaze bore into her back and she turned to flash him a bright smile. "I bounced off a rock and have a few bruises. I'll be right as rain in a day or two."

Sighing, he crossed the room, "Hop up on the table."

"The table you just asked me to wash? The wet table? But my fine pants, they'll be ruined!"

Without pointing out the mismatched armor she was wearing, Anders pointed to the other table, "Then sit over here, then. Let me get a look at you. It's getting late; the last thing you want is to be walking wounded out of Darktown."

Rolling her eyes, she went over and hopped onto the table, taking off her stiff leather vest, "I'm fine. I have a healing potion in my bag, and Beth will be home tonight."

"Healing potions are expensive. I'm cheap." He was untucking her shirt when he realized what he'd just said, looking up to see if she'd caught it. When he saw the amused smirk and the lifted eyebrow, he sighed, "You know what I mean."

With the careful detachment of a healer, he pulled up her shirt, eyeing the bruising on her side. It went halfway up her ribcage, and he sighed again as he placed his palm on the bruise, warm green light flowing over the injury as he prodded it. Distracting himself from the rise and fall of her chest inches away from his head, he asked, "Why aren't you bringing Bethany? You shouldn't go down there without a healer."

The shake of her head was violent enough to twist her entire body, and there was a slight hiss of muffled pain hidden in her voice, "No. I'm not taking her down there blind. More than a healer, I wanted you for your ability to sense Darkspawn. That's something Wardens do, right?"

With a wry twist of his lips, he said, "Always the Warden thing, with you. What about the rugged good looks? The manly stubble?"

"If I can have two reasons, why not three? Darkspawn sensing, healing, and eye candy." Looking down, she took a deep breath, testing her ribs. Everything felt put to right, "Anders?"

"Hmmm?" He was looking up at her, meeting her stunningly blue eyes, the green light still flowing around his hand.

"My ribs feel much better now."

"Oh!" Embarrassed, he pulled his hand away, letting her shirt fall back down to cover her skin. Hands on either side of her legs, he stayed crouched on the floor in front of her. "Hawke... what do you know about Wardens?"

Resisting the urge to hop down, she tilted her head, regarding him curiously, "Well. I know they're ruggedly handsome, with manly stubble."

Bowing his head, he spoke quietly, "I can feel _them_. It's like a crawling, creeping feeling; like a voice just at the edge of hearing. The Commander said it was worse during the Blight, that she heard the Archdemon's voice in her sleep, but it was bad enough. And, eventually, it's going to get stronger. They call it the 'Calling'. In a few decades, it's going to get so bad that I'll go down into the Deep Roads and look for them, just to make it stop. I'll walk down there, into the dark, to die. I don't want to die," his voice shook slightly, and he kept his eyes averted.

It was a surprise when he felt her hands on his face, delicate fingers cupping his cheek. They weren't soft hands, not with as much time as she spent with her knives, but they were gentle when she pulled his face up to meet her eyes, "I'm sorry. Forget I asked, alright?"

He stood so he was looking down at her, smiling when she didn't let her hand drop. Sighing, he said morosely, "You know my biggest problem? I'm a sucker for a pretty face. At least this isn't nearly as dumb as drinking Darkspawn blood." He reached up to take her hand, giving it a squeeze, then turned away.

"I'm not kidding, Anders. It was a foolish request."

"Just please tell me you're bringing Aveline." There was silence. With his back still to her, he rolled his eyes, "Well, I guess we'll have light if there's a cave in, then." It was worth it, he reflected, to hear her laugh. There wasn't often laughter in his little clinic.

"You'll get a full cut, the same as the rest of us," Hawke told him, trying to sound positive. "That could do a lot of good in a clinic like this."

"I'm doing it," he said, replacing the last of his equipment and turning around, "so I can make you help me clean more often."

"Deal. I swear," she put her hand solemnly over her heart, then hopped down to the dirt floor. "Come on, can I get you a drink?"

She could get him a dozen, if only to make this seem less terrifying and foolish. "Might I escort you to the Hanged Man?" When she took his mockingly offered arm, he gave her a saucy wink.


	4. Underground

(As always, all characters, settings, and game references belong to Bioware)

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><p>It hadn't occurred to her that it would be so horrible down here, so far under the surface. She'd lived in Lowtown for well over a year now, and candles were not cheap; she was no stranger to the dark; she'd thought that would be the worst. But it was surprisingly light down here, a strange, red light from the flows of molten stone that ran alongside and below the roadways, lighting and warming the caverns of the Deep Roads.<p>

They'd been down there for three days without seeing anything more dangerous than strange, skittering creatures that had come out of the dark at one of the baggage carts. The creatures had been no more than pests; the only difficulty they presented was that their small size made striking them with knives awkward. One of her boots had been damaged by sharp teeth, the destruction of equipment the typical nagging worry. If this expedition bore no fruit, she would not even have the coin to purchase a new pair when they reached the surface.

The lack of sunlight and breeze was beginning to wear on Hawke, however. She hadn't thought that the worst part would be the stillness. There was no breeze down here, no flow of air, and it was stifling.

Periodically, she would pause, her breath quickening as she tried to convince herself they weren't running out of air, that they weren't all going to suffocate. It was easier when they were moving, but when they stopped for the night or for a meal, the weight of all the stone and earth above them began to crush her.

At times like that, she moved to the edges of the road, the waves of warmth making a semblance of breeze that helped to calm her, despite the smothering heat of the air and the strange, acrid smell of melted stone. The quiet down here had sharpened her hearing, and she heard the faint scuffle of bare feet on stone as Fenris came up beside her.

"Do not cross your arms like that," his voice was quiet, but he was standing close enough that now she could feel his warmth, as well.

She hadn't realized she'd done it, that she was holding herself as if she were cold. At his words, however, she dropped her arms to her side, glancing at him sidelong.

"And stop looking up at the ceiling as if you expect it to fall in at any moment." He was staring at her unapologetically.

"I'm sorry. Does my body language bother you?"

"Yes."

That was... not what she had expected. Turning, she met his brilliant green eyes directly. "Why?"

"You show weakness when you show fear like that. It makes those following you nervous." Yet he did not look nervous, instead, he simply looked sincere, as if he were trying to impart some great wisdom.

She snorted. The corner of his lip twitched up, just a bit, but she'd learned to watch for that, learned to focus on his lips and the corners of his eyes. His own body language would tell her nothing, she knew, but there, in the tiniest of muscle movements, she could read him, just a little. "What if I am afraid?" she challenged him, crossing her arms again, though this time with a lazy, leaning posture.

Raising a dark eyebrow at her challenge, he continued conversationally, "The only time I ever saw my master physically strike his apprentice was when she showed fear in front of the slaves. A Magister never shows fear."

"I am _not," _she bristled, "a magister. I'm not even a mage."

"You are not a mage," Fenris acknowledged. "But you are not allowed to show fear."

"Why not?"

Jerking his head back to the nervous men and dwarves who made up the majority of this expedition, he said, "Those men are looking to you to protect them from this darkness. The dwarf has made it very clear that that is your purpose. If you appear weak before them, they will either scatter, or turn on you. You are not allowed to show fear," he repeated.

Her scowl was a fierce thing to behold, "What about you? Are you allowed to show fear?"

"I am not afraid." Turning away from her, he stared down at the molten stone that had attracted her attention, his brow creasing as he tried to pinpoint what had drawn him here, what had so bothered him about her skittish gestures and nervous eyes. It had grated on him as he traveled beside her in the dimness, like rough sand over his skin as he watched her display weakness for all who would see it.

"When something jumps out of this dark and eats me, you and I will have words about the correctness of being afraid," there was a grouchy acquiescence in that reply.

Reaching over his shoulder, he touched the hilt of his massive sword, "I doubt that; your ravenous beast will have gone through me, first."

"Just see that it does, pretty boy," Hawke said, tartly.

"'Pretty boy'?" Fenris raised an eyebrow again.

"Pretty elf?" Hawke tried instead, her blue eyes crinkling in the corner from laughter. It was his turn to scowl now, and she tried, "Broody elf?"

"I do not-"

"Brood," she said it with him in a cheerful mockery of his voice. When he continued to scowl, she grinned, elbowing the air beside him, "Oh, fine. If I cannot be afraid, am I allowed to be hungry?"

He appreciated the gesture; she'd learned quicker than he'd imagined his aversion to touch, and almost shamefully wondered if she had guessed at the pain his lyrium marks caused him. "That is fully acceptable; one does not eat ravenously when one is afraid."

"I do not eat ravenously," she said tartly, but she left her position on the edge of the dwarven road, heading towards the gathered expedition. He steps were firm, but her soft boots made little noise on the old, worn stone.

Easily falling into step behind and to her left, he matched his stride with hers naturally; their heights were nearly identical, the motions natural. "I have seen men survive for a week on what you put before you in a day."

A flush rose, turning her neck pink to the ears, and she glared at him over her shoulder. "Don't walk back there if you're going to try to talk to me." With an imperious snap of her wrist, she gestured for him to step forward to walk beside her. It took her a half a dozen more steps before she realized that, not only had he not moved to join her, he had stopped walking. Puzzled, she turned to look at him.

That simple motion, that command, had brought him up short, his lip curling up in a silent snarl as he glared at her. His clawed gauntlets creaked as he tightened his hands into fists at his sides, the urge to strike out at her almost overwhelming.

Looking down at her own hand, as if it had made the gesture unbidden, she swore, "Andraste's flaming sword, Fenris." Opening her mouth, she scrambled for words to explain the gesture, excuse the meaning behind it. Before she could find the words, however, he shook himself, like a dog scattering water from its fur. As if his shake had freed her own vocal cords, she said, "Would you mind walking next to me? Looking over my shoulder strains my neck."

Nodding silently, he walked again, uncomfortably taking up position directly beside her, though they spoke no more as they rejoined the expedition, moving to claim their dried rations and the ale the dwarves had brought. As they passed their companions, he saw the apostate watching them, and there was no attempt by the man to hide his disgust. For an instant, he met Anders's eyes, giving the man nothing from his expression, only the acknowledgement that he recognized the mage's displeasure at his presence. Then, pointedly, he looked away, turning his attention back to the woman at his side.

Warrior's instincts let him feel the glare of hatred the mage gave him, but the man would do nothing. It was a weakness of the mage, that he would bristle at his presence at their leader's side, and yet do nothing. It pleased Fenris in a way he chose not to contemplate.

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><p>Author's Note: As I'm running this story without a beta, any observations about repeated errors would be appreciated.<p> 


	5. A Fight Unfought

(As always, all characters, settings, and references to game events belong to Bioware. Although, in this case, events have been twisted quite a bit)

This one was hard to write, but it was one of the specific game dialogues I had to hit- I was just very unsatisfied with how Bethany being taken to the circle played out, so I'm indulging in a little melodrama so I can get to some more fun bits.

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><p>"Hawke!" Aveline's voice was strangely frantic as she charged across the market square, ignoring glares and mutters as she cut through the crowd towards the other woman.<p>

"What's wrong?" Hawke spun from the negotiations going on beside her, Varric working on selling more of the treasures and equipment they'd picked up. She met the guard halfway across the courtyard, the rogue able to weave through the crowd more easily than the heavily armored woman.

"I overheard... There's..." The redhead looked torn for a moment, between duty to the guard and loyalty to a friend. But the Hawke family was more than simply friends, "Hawke, there are Templars going to your uncle's house. I paid a boy to run to the house, but-"

Hawke didn't need to hear the end of what Aveline had to say; this was a terror that had dogged her since she was old enough to understand the fear on her parents' faces. "Tell Varric," she ran then, and she wasn't bothering to weave through the crowd where it was quicker to push through or leap over, using all of her battle agility for this mundane task.

Her headlong dash didn't last long; even Hawke could not run the length of Kirkwall at a sprint. At one point, she saw a flash of dark skin and heard her name, but she continued to run; at least the crowds were thinner in Lowtown.

By the time Gamlen's shack came into sight, every muscle was screaming for her to stop, and she was running partially bent over at the pain of her labored breaths. The sight of the open door gave her the strength to put on a final burst of speed, however, and she dashed up the stairs, leaning against the doorway.

The Templar's words were straight out of Hawke's nightmares, and she snarled at him, fiercely, "You'll take her over my dead body." They were both reaching for their blades, and it didn't matter that the Templar was in full plate mail, while Hawke wore leather and shook with exhaustion.

Before it could erupt into unbalanced bloodshed, Bethany was between them, reaching a calming hand towards her sister. "No. It's alright."

Deflating under her foolish, sweet sister's encouraging smile, she let herself fall back against the wall, brushing sweat soaked hair back from her eyes. They'd been running from this moment for their entire lives, and the horror of it was no less than she'd ever imagined as the templar watched Bethany bundle a few possessions into her bag.

He'd taken her staff, holding it casually in one hand, and Bethany glanced at if from time to time, as if she, too, were considering fighting. Their mother was sobbing behind them, but Hawke couldn't look away from the nightmare unfolding in front of her.

"It's alright," Bethany said again, hugging her mother. Her hand was shaking when she reached up to cup her sister's cheek, and she couldn't meet Marian's eyes.

The templar was gentle, at least, as he herded the mage out of the little shack, Bethany's staff held negligently in one hand, one battered end dragging on the street.

Hawke followed them to the little porch, and she heard Bethany politely request, "Please pick it up. You'll damage it." She was worried about her poor, used staff, the best her sister had been able to get for her before the expedition.

"The Circle will provide you with a proper staff," the templar said in response.

The mage's shoulders slumped in defeat, and Hawke's control snapped. She vaulted down onto the street, snarling as she drew her knives on the templar. He was turning at the sound, but too slow, when something hard hit Hawke from the side, driving her to the ground and knocking the breath out of her.

A booted foot kicked one of her knives away at the same time as a gauntleted hand twisted her arm behind her back. She fought, thrashing violently and hearing Aveline grunt as the guard tried to control her. "I'm sorry, Hawke," the red-headed woman said, before she gave her a thwack upside the head that rattled her brain, suddenly making the streets of Lowtown blur and tilt, even as she twisted her neck to continue looking at Bethany.

"Let me go!" Hawke tried to kick at the guard, and found herself being held down by sheer weight more than skill. They didn't understand, but if she could only get free, get to Bethany, they could run again. They could run to the ends of the earth, away from all of the templars.

"Don't let her do this," it was Bethany's terrified voice. "I don't want her hurt."

"Alright, Sunshine," Varric's boots suddenly blocked Hawke's view as he stepped in front of her. "Get her out of here, templar. We don't want this fight."

"Nor do I." The templar's voice was cool and disapproving as he said, "For Bethany's cooperation, I will pretend I did not see you here, guard. Come along."

Despite her struggles, Hawke couldn't free herself enough to watch them leave, but the fading footsteps of the templar were like physical blows. Once they'd faded, she went limp, her face pressed against the dirty street outside her home. For the first time, she noticed something wet dripping into her hair.

It was another long moment before Aveline said, "Can I let you up now, Hawke?" Her voice was slightly muffled and wet sounding. When the rogue gave no reply, Aveline let Varric help haul her to her feet.

Sitting up slowly, Hawke pulled her knees up against her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around them and starting to shake with silent sobs. Varric and Aveline were standing in front of her, the dwarf's face full of concern. The human's was hidden behind the cloth she clutched to her nose, and there was blood on her armor.

"Maker's breath, Hawke. I think you broke my nose."

"Leave me alone." She wouldn't meet their eyes, simply staring down at the dust in front of her. "Just leave me alone." Behind her, she could hear Gamlen cursing loudly and Leandra sobbing brokenly.

The guard watched her for a long moment before she went to the house, speaking soothingly to calm the chaos inside. Varric leaned against the wall beside Hawke, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder, "Sunshine is stronger than you think. She'll be alright."

"Leave me alone."

He didn't try to talk any more, after that. Neither did Aveline when she'd finally calmed Leandra enough to leave. Her mother, calmed from her accusations against Marian, tried to convince her oldest- and now virtually only- child to come inside, but that, too, was ignored.

Hawke sat there, curled around herself as it slowly grew dark, never raising her eyes enough to study more than the boots of the people who passed her by, giving the stone-faced rogue a wide birth as they went about their business. Her normally observant instincts failed to recognize the pair of boots that stopped in front of her next until their owner lowered himself down with a muttered grunt.

They sat in silence for a moment, then he, of course, began to speak, "The templars have no right to do this. No right to tear apart families. This is why the Circles are failing, why-"

"I don't want to hear propaganda today, Anders." She was distantly surprised when he fell silent, and they sat there for a while as the last of the lights went out, the street only lit by the sparse lanterns.

Awkwardly, Anders put an arm around Hawke's shoulders, giving her a slight squeeze. "Bethany is a good mage. It won't be... they won't... It'll be alright."

Turning, she let herself relax into his embrace, burying her face in those silly, itchy, feathered shoulder pads. "I couldn't protect her. I was supposed to protect them. Carver's gone and they took her, Anders. They took her and I let them."

"It's not your fault. Varric said Bethany didn't want you to fight." The dwarf had said it in response to Anders's immediate decision that they needed to strike the Circle that very night.

"But I let them! I should have killed him. We should have run. I should have... I should have," there were so many 'should haves'.

Should have made sure Bethany was more careful.

Should have been here to prevent whatever tipped them off.

Should have brought Bethany with her, away from the templars.

Should have moved, long ago.

Should have fought. The father whose name she used- he would have fought.

Anders didn't say anything else, he simply held her while she sobbed herself dry against his chest.


	6. Coming Home

(As always, nothing belongs to me; I'm just playing with Bioware's property.)

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><p>Hawke had tried to convince her mother to let her buy some other home, one that would be a new start, rather than the shattered remains of her mother's childhood home. Her attempts had been in vain, however, and she hadn't had the heart to tell her mother 'no'.<p>

So, Leandra Amell would be returning to her childhood home. Truthfully, it had not been as bad as Hawke had feared; most of the house was not nearly so damaged as what they had seen coming in from the cellar in Darktown. It would take work, but Hawke welcomed the distraction from the shattering absence in her family.

Bethany's absence was worse, in a way, than Carver's. Carver had been gone in seconds, and no matter what responsibility she'd felt to protect her younger siblings, she knew she could not have moved fast enough to stop her brother. But Beth... Beth was out there, just out of reach. There'd been a moment when Leandra had thrown open the doors to her old room and turned with a smile to her eldest, "Do you think this room would work for..."

She'd trailed off, but they'd both known what she was going to say, and Hawke had excused herself on the pretense of needing to inspect the master suite her mother had insisted she take. It was... big. And empty. After so long in her uncle's hut, the enormous room felt positively oppressive. Not that it would be empty for long, she mused, looking out the window. Where was that dwarf?

After the mishap in the Deep Roads, the dwarven merchant and his son had attached themselves to the Hawke family, and he'd helped her mother purchase and coordinate the delivery of all of the furniture, which, from the sound of it, hadn't started to arrive yet. It was worrisome; Aveline had promised to stop by that afternoon to help Hawke with the heavier furniture so they wouldn't have to hire help, but the guard would beat everything here at this rate.

While she waited, Hawke eyed the room more seriously, trying to decide where she wanted to put the monstrosity of a bed her mother had found for her. The first warning she had was the sound of the doors below slamming open, and Isabela's raucous laughter echoing up from downstairs. After that, the wave of noise became incomprehensible.

Rushing from the room, Hawke stopped at the railing, looking down as chaos boiled into her new home. Aveline and Isabela were each on the end of a table, the pirate complaining cheerfully that this was not what she had signed up for.

Varric could be heard outside, directing the workers dropping off the new furniture. Leandra was standing in front of the cold fireplace and cheerfully describing where she wanted everything to go. "Wait, wait, wait, we need to get some of the rugs in before more of the furniture," the older woman said firmly.

As she coordinated that with the men delivering the carts of goods, Hawke slowly came down the stairs, "Isabela, what are you doing here? And Varric?"

Merrill came in the door then, carrying a large, leafy plant. "Hello, Hawke! Aveline said you needed help moving in. This house is so... so big," she turned slowly in place, before someone bumped into her with one of the rolled up rugs, and she nearly dropped the plant with a squeak. "I brought this for you," she suddenly said, thrusting it out.

"It's lovely, Merrill, thank you." Looking over at Isabel, she said sincerely, "Thank you all."

"Hey, Hawke, we could use some help out here with the chairs," Varric called through the door. "Or are you too fancy to get your hands splintered and scraped, living in a place like this?"

Rolling her eyes, Hawke bounded down the remainder of the stairs, inserting herself into the chaos of moving with all of her nimble grace. There was more furniture there than she'd remembered her mother talking about, far more than she and Aveline could have dealt with on their own. Much to her surprise, even Fenris was out there, casually handing down the larger pieces of furniture and picking up far more than Hawke would have expected his lithe form capable of.

An elbow suddenly jabbed her in the ribs, "Now, are you going to admire all of your helpers like that? One could get jealous," the pirate wrapped her arm casually around Hawke's waist.

"I wasn't- I just didn't remember my mother saying she'd bought all this stuff," she defended, blushing furiously. "I'm not staring at anyone." When she looked back up, she caught Fenris's eyes, and broke gaze first, snatching up a chair from a stack and marching inside.

They worked in companionable bickering as they filled the house with belongings, setting up the downstairs before turning their attention to the dismantled beds on the last cart. Leandra had already mapped out her room, and it was a matter of minutes to set the older woman up, while she happily chattered about patterns and matching curtains.

In a spare moment, Hawke pulled Aveline aside, having noticed a surprising absence, "Where's Anders?"

The guard frowned at that, "He was... busy. I think... he seems stressed, Hawke. You should talk to him later."

"What she means," Isabela was never one to stay out of private conversations, "is that he was in his clinic talking to the voice in his head."

Frowning worriedly, Hawke looked at Aveline for confirmation. When the redhead nodded, she chewed on her lip, glancing towards the door.

Aveline patted Hawke on the shoulder, "It'll wait. Enjoy your homecoming. Bodahn sent for food."

"Your turn, honey!" Leandra gestured down to the pile of bed pieces still waiting downstairs.

It took the four of them, Aveline and the silent Fenris, Isabela and Hawke, to get the frame up the stairs and to the room. "Where do you want this, Hawke?" The guard grunted as they hauled it into the room.

"That far corner. I can have an open area to practice in, if it's raining outside," Hawke said decisively.

"Absolutely not," Leandra's voice was firm. Everyone turned to stare at her in confusion, and she continued, "You may not be concerned about it now, but at some point, honey, you're going to want someone to be able to get in the other side."

Hawke blinked at her in confusion for a moment, only realizing what her mother was implying when Isabela began to laugh. "I'm not... Mother!" For the second time that afternoon, she flushed a brilliant scarlet.

"You should listen to your mother, Hawke," Isabela said, "that big bed looks awfully empty. You'll need help keeping it warm." Her hands went to her hips, and she rolled her shoulders back, drawing attention to the generous cleavage her shirt provided for show, "Just give me a call when you have a mattress."

"Isabela! My mother is right there!"

"Oh, honey, she's partly right. Sometimes I think you should be a bit more like Isabela here than like Aveline. Not everyone can be married to their job," Leandra smiled fondly at the red-head, "no offense, dear." Giving the pirate a once over, she added, "You have better fashion sense."

"None taken," Aveline said, while Isabela blustered indignantly beside her.

Without even looking around the room, Leandra pointed decisively, "The bed goes there."

"Assistance would be appreciated," it was one of the only times Fenris had spoken that afternoon, and everyone jumped to hear it. His face was its usual impassive mask, but there was an unusual tenseness to him that Hawke attributed to impatience, and so she moved forward to help him fit boards into slots.

When they'd finished that, the group retreated to inspect their handiwork. Merrill and Varric had set up a dinner that, while rather more like a picnic than a proper dinner party, was quite delicious. As they all started to drift, considering calling it a night, Hawke found herself staring down at her friends. She smiled at Merrill pouring a little more water into the plant, and couldn't help but chuckle a little at the glare Fenris was giving the statue her mother had found.

"Nice view you have here," Isabela said.

"Mmhmm," Hawke agreed, distracted somewhat by the wine from dinner.

"I meant outside," the pirate said, laughing.

Turning, Hawke looked out the window, catching movement in one of the other homes, "Maker! I'm going to need to put up curtains. What are those people doing?"

"He's got her leg hooked up over his arm, so that he can get a better angle on-"

"That's not what I meant!"

"Oh, Hawke. You are far too tense. Too bad your mage pretty boy didn't want to come today. What? Is cleanshaven more your type?" she asked when Hawke wrinkled her nose.

"Ladies! A round of Wicked Grace before we leave?" Varric's voice boomed through the house.

Shaking her head, Hawke returned to the railing, "I don't want to keep my mother from her rest, she-"

"Nonsense." Leandra Amell held her hand out towards the dwarf, "I'll shuffle the cards, if you please."

Laughing merrily, Varric retrieved the cards from his bag as the rest of the group moved to the table, "Don't worry; we go easy on beginners in this group, right Daisy?"

"Hey! I've finally gotten the hang of the game. I think. I don't lose so badly anymore," the Dalish elf protested.

"Beginner?" Looking down her nose at the dwarf, the older woman sniffed, "I've been playing Wicked Grace longer than at least most of you have been alive. Enjoy the show." With a practiced snap of her wrists, she began to shuffle the cards.

As they headed for the table, Hawke glided in front of Fenris, cutting him off without touching him. "I was surprised to see you here," she said in a low voice, "thank you."

He regarded her steadily for a moment, brushing his hair back from where it had stuck to the sweat on his forehead, "You are… welcome, Hawke. Perhaps you will stop by Denarius's mansion some evening; I notice you have a wine cellar with no wine."

"Perhaps," Hawke stared at him seriously. "We are neighbor's, now. It's in the area."

"Come on, Hawke, Broody; we're waiting on you," Varric called out from the table.

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><p>AN: I want to thank people for the favs, watches, and comments. The fact that someone might be waiting for an update provides a bit of a prod when I'm finding myself going over the same section a dozen different ways to try to get characters' voices right.<p>

Also, I intend to update on Mondays, but we can all see how that went this week. There are a few more pieces written than posted, but I'm trying to keep things in chronological order, so they'll have to wait.


	7. Clinic Hours

(As always, nothing belongs to me; I'm just playing with Bioware's property.)

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><p>"Knock, knock," Hawke peeked into the dim confines of the clinic, focusing on the mage healer.<p>

"Hawke!" Anders turned with a smile, "What can I do for you?"

"I was just stopping by to see if I could help with anything. No looming outside this time," she pointed, grinning at him.

"My patients appreciate that," the mage said dryly. "And I always appreciate the help cleaning up."

Looking around, the rogue spotted a broom and fetched it, going to the far corner and beginning to sweep the larger debris off the hard-packed dirt floor. While she worked, she hummed quietly to herself, distantly hearing the clack of Anders cleaning his tools. "Are you having much trouble with the guards?"

"Aveline is doing what she can," he admitted grudingly, "but the templars are searching the refugee camps."

"Well," she turned, giving him a saucy grin, "if they want to get to you; they'll have to go through me first."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Something in his voice made her turn, tilting her head quizically as she studied him. He was just... staring at her in a way that made her shift uncomfortably, swallowing against the suddenly dry feeling in her mouth. Quirking her lips, she started to speak, but he shook his head and stepped towards her.

"Hawke. Marian," he reached out, cupping her cheek in his hand, giving her a sad, half-smile, "you've been a greater ally than I had expected to find. I'm not sure what I would do if something happened because of me."

Her hands clutched the broom between them with a white-knuckled grip, and she felt her breath catch as she met his gaze. The hand on her cheek was warm, and she leaned into it just slightly as she spent a long moment staring into the deep pools of his eyes. "Anders..."

He began to lean towards her and something... flickered in his eyes. For a moment, she thought she saw a flash of blue in their depths, but it was gone before she could decide if it were real or imaginary.

Pulling away, she shook her head, freeing herself from his touch, "Don't. Just... Anders, don't."

Dropping his hand, he bowed his head to her in acquiescence. "Just... tell me. Is it because of Justice?" That she hesitated told him all he needed to know, but he was greatful for her honesty when she answered.

"Yes. I'm not saying that's all of it, but it's the most important part." Shifting her grip on the broom, she turned her attention back to cleaning.

Sighing, the mage watched her for a long moment, "It's probably for the best. I'd only cause you pain." He gave a short laugh, "It would have been nice to pretend, for a while, though."

"I don't play pretend, Anders." Poking at him with the handle of the broom, she scolded, "You should know that by now."

Saluting her, he went back to his workbench, "Right. Enough of me, have you found any other work? I haven't found sand in any interesting places lately, maybe something up the coast?"

Laughing, Hawke finished her sweeping of the clinic and returned the broom to its place, "I'll see what I can do. Aveline asked to see me; she usually has something interesting."

"Slavers and Tal-Vashoth, what more could a man ask for?" He was dropping bloodied and dirty cloths into the basin beside one of the tables. "There. Care to join me for dinner? I have a lovely soup that's almost certainly not made of either rat, or cat."

Going to his side, Hawke eyed the bowl he was setting out on the smallest of his tables, "You cook?"

"Maker, no. Sometimes the people I heal bring me meals, however. Probably better than they're eating tonight, but it keeps them from feeling obliged to me." He went to a cupboard and pulled out a pair of bowls, dragging a chair back to the table with him. "The bowls are clean."

"No, mother and Bodahn will have something-"

"Nonsense, there's more here than I can eat. Unless you're opposed to Lowtown soup... I'm sure the fare up in your mansion in Hightown is much, hey!" He batted away the scrap of leather she'd found in a pocket and thrown at him.

"Fine!" Spinning one of the chairs around and straddling the back of it, Hawke took one of the bowls and a spoon from the mage. "I'll join you at your fine establishment."

Anders took the time to close the hidden door to the clinic before he joined Hawke at the table. Touching the bowl of soup for a moment, he frowned, then narrowed his eyes in concentration. The glow of elemental magic around his hands was obvious, and in a moment there was steam rising from the top of the bowl. With steady hands, he poured the soup into the two bowls, leaving only a little at the bottom. It wouldn't leave him with enough for breakfast, he reflected, but it was worth spending the coin for the company.

"Have you heard from Bethany?" Even he winced at that opening, but it had been a while since he'd had to make table conversation.

Taking a bite of her soup to give herself a moment to compose her expression, Hawke shook her head. "No, but I've been able to get letters in. The templar swears he's been getting them in, and the merchant I've been dealing with says he's trustworthy. We know," she swallowed, though there was nothing in her mouth, "we know she passed her Harrowing."

"Her Harrowing? She hasn't even been in the Circle a year," Anders scowled, and the lines of blue were definitely in his eyes now.

"Anders!" Her sharp voice brought him back to the here and now, and she met his eyes squarely, "Storming the Circle isn't going to bring Karl back, and it won't give me Bethany back, it'll just get us all killed." They ate in silence for a few minutes before Hawke changed the subject, "You haven't been coming to play Wicked Grace with us."

"I've been... busy. I'm working on writing down my thoughts, in case something happens." His eyes drifted over to a stack of paper on a shelf.

"Come on, all work, no play makes the spirit infested mage cranky," she pointed her spoon at him sternly. "You can join friends for a few drinks. I've had Merrill on my team for weeks since you've stopped coming. She's as sweet as I could ask for, but if she asks Varric if she has a good hand one more time, I might smight her myself."

"A bloodmage who consorts with demons is hardly _sweet," _he said coldly. "It-"

"What's that saying about mages in straw houses throwing fireballs?" Looking up, as if the answer were written on the low ceiling, Hawke tapped her chin in thought.

"Fine. Fine. Justice doesn't let me drink," he admitted reluctantly.

"Oh. Well, you can still come play with us, can't you?" Tilting her bowl up, she scraped up the last of the soup with manners far more typical of a starving family in Lowtown than the owner of an estate in Hightown. It seemed old habits died hard.

It was hard to deny the cajoleing tone in her voice, and Anders sighed, "Fine. I'll come this week."

"Oh good! I'll stop by before so you don't forget, or get too busy scribbling," she gave him a wink. "For now, though, I think I need to head home."

Anders was on his feet in an instant, picking up his staff, "I'll walk you."

Dismissively, Hawke gave him a wave, "Don't bother; it's not that late yet. No need for you to go out of your way."

"I have to go up to find a well, anyway." With a wry smile, he said, "If I don't get some water to wash up, the slavers will smell me from Kirkwall."

Hawke's dark brows knit together in a frown, "You have to haul water all the way down here?"

"Well, no, but bathing in the fountain in Hightown can get awkward when some old biddy notices me."

Laughing and blushing at that image, she shook her head, "You might as well come up and use my bath. We have a good water system, and Sandal has the enchantment on the heated resevoir working like... well, like a charm."

"Bathing in a lady's house? What if you try to take advantage of me?" He kept the last vestiges of a hopeful tone out of his voice.

Chucking him on the shoulder, she promised, "I'll do my best to control myself."

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><p>AN: While I totally get why Anders hits on all versions of the Champion, I never could reconcile his sulking, rivalry-giving response to being turned down with the awesome Anders from Awakening.<p>

Also, it seems like Tuesdays are just better updating days. Next week, return to awkward Fenris/Hawke


	8. A Little Practice

(As always, nothing belongs to me; I'm just playing with Bioware's property.)

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><p>Fenris was not accustomed to knocking before he entered the Amell estate, any more than his companions were accustomed to knocking on Danarius's broken door. As such, he made no announcement of his entry, simply walking in and through the entry room.<p>

"Bethany wro-" the weight hit his back just as he came around the edge of the door; the rogue must have been just around the corner. His markings flared to light as the solid weight of someone hit his back, but, just as quickly, the weight pushed off, sending him stumbling forward with a snarl. When he turned, sword in hand, it was to find Hawke crouched in the corner, beside the fireplace, eyeing him warily.

"... I'm sorry. I thought you were Anders." She had the grace to blush as she slowly straightened, watching his tense form.

Feigning a casualness he didn't feel, Fenris resheathed his sword, raising a dark eyebrow, "Does Anders come over so often that you jump all visitors?" His lip curled a little at the thought that she would leap at the mage so. Unbidden, his mind went her mother's words on the day they had helped Hawke move into her estate.

"He uses my baths. We... have warm water," she was cautious as she approached him, "I'm sorry; I expected someone else would have knocked. Except maybe Aveline. Or Isabela, but I could have jumped at them, too," she gave a wry smile.

"What were you saying?" He took note of the now-rumpled piece of paper in her hand.

Gesturing towards the library, with it's more friendly seating, Hawke said, "Bethany wrote! It's the first time since she's been at the Circle. Look," she thrust the paper at him, grinning like a fool.

Recoiling as if she were handing him a snake, he shook his head firmly, "I do not want to read your letter."

The coldness in his voice puzzled her, but she shook her head, folding the letter and setting it down on the table instead. "I've been using my roguish wiles to get letters in to her, but this is the first one out."

"Is she finding the Circle as terrible as you feared?"

It was her turn to go cold, "If you're just going to tell me she's better off there, you can leave right now. I don't want to hear it today. In fact, I don't ever want to hear about how glad you are that the templars finally came and took my baby sister."

With great care, Fenris set his sword beside the chair, then settled himself. "I am not... glad that your sister was taken. The templars have locked up a strong mage. Stronger than many that are loose in Kirkwall."

"From you, Fenris, that's like composing a ballad praising her virtues."

"I shall leave the composing to Varric," the elf said dryly, one corner of his mouth turning up.

Hawke twisted in her chair, throwing one leg over the arm as she turned to study her guest, "Our father never taught us to fear magic," it was out before she'd really thought about it.

"Your father must have been a foolhardy man."

"No," earnestly, she leaned forward, and there was something in her expression, some pleading need for him to understand, "it's when mages are afraid that they turn to demons and blood magic. He taught us, he taught Bethany, that it was just like any other strength or skill. If you were careless, people got hurt, but if you were careful... he used to help people. It was what got us in trouble more often than not. I wish more mages can be taught that way."

Her gaze was... uncomfortable. In all the time he'd been a slave, and when on the run afterwards, no one had ever looked at him so intently, so fearlessly. He broke first, turning to look at that hideous statue she insisted on keeping above her fireplace. "Do you want me to agree with you? Do you make all your companions agree with you?" Without giving her a chance to answer, he continued, in an increasingly angry voice, "Do you demand Aveline agree with your working around the guards? Or the Abomination agree with assisting a templar? Is that what you want; to be surrounded by those who agree with your every thought?"

"No!" Slapping the arm of her chair, she drew his gaze back to her, "I just... Maker's Breath, Fenris, I just wanted you to understand why. Friends talk; why do you always assume I'm trying to control you?"

Pursing his lips, the elf stared at the floor for a moment. "I... I have never had a 'friend' before. I do not understand what you want from me."

"Oh, Fenris," running her hands through her hair, Hawke sighed, "I don't want anything from you." Helpless, she sat in silence for a moment, then she turned her sharp eyes on him, "Wait just a minute." When his head snapped up to meet her eyes, she began to laugh.

"Does something amuse you?"

His cool tone just made her laugh harder, "Fenris. You came here. What did you want?"

"I..." he had the grace to flush as he realized she was correct. Her response to his entrance and this strange conversation had completely driven that fact from his mind. "I came to ask if you wanted to practice."

Tilting her head to the side, she asked, "Practice?"

"You get too close to my sword when I am swinging," he said, half snarling. "I could have sliced you in half in the street the other night."

Hawke made a rude gesture of dismissal, "You were nowhere near me. I know what I'm doing. But still," she swung her leg as she thought, tapping her lips with one finger. "We would be more effective if you knew what to expect. When? Where?"

Blinking at her instant agreement, he said, "I practice in the main room of Danarius's mansion. I would have suggested your next free evening."

"Brilliant! Tomorrow." All her anger forgotten, she gave him a wicked grin, "I don't suppose you practice with your shirt off?"

Coughing, he tried to hide a blush, "Hawke..." It was only when he met her gaze that he realized she was laughing at him silently. "Well. I shall... see you tomorrow, then." Standing up awkwardly, he gave her a stiff bow, then fled.

To spare his feelings, Hawke waited until she heard the door shut before she began to laugh aloud.

It was after dark the next day when Hawke entered the decrepit mansion, dressed in her light armor, with a small bundle under her arm. "Fenris?" she called out when she entered, although it was obvious he was home; far more lights were lit in the entry way.

"Hawke, you came." Fenris came to the top of the stairs, dressed as he always was, sword over his shoulder.

"And I brought you a gift." Pulling out the package, she held it out, grinning cheerfully at him.

Confused, he stepped forward, taking off the wrapping she'd placed around the gift, "It is... a book."

"A rare book. It's by Shartan, the elf who-"

"I know of Shartan," he snapped, sneering at her, "I certainly didn't learn it from books, though. Do you think they teach a slave to read?"

Trying to stay positive, she chirped, "It's never too late to learn."

The way her shoulders slumped tightened something in his chest, and he gave a self-deprecating little smile, "Isn't it? Still... I do appreciate the gift. I have always wanted to learn more about Shartan, perhaps this is my chance. But that is not why you are here."

"No. Shall we?" Wincing when he negligently dropped the book, Hawke moved to the center of the room. "Now charge me."

With only a hint of hesitation, he rushed forward, bringing his sword down in a slow arc. Nimbly, Hawke leapt into the air, flipping over him. Before she'd even hit the ground, she was scolding him, "This isn't going to work if you pull your blows like that. Did you see what I did?"

"You jumped out of the way." Turning around, he faced her again, shifting his grip on his sword. He frowned when she turned her back on him, facing the far wall.

"Watch my feet. Charge me again," she commanded, glancing over her shoulder.

"I know how to fight rogues, Hawke." Still, he obeyed, charging once more. At the last moment, he pulled his blow, but she was already in the air, flipping backwards over his head this time. "Is this all you intended to do this evening?"

"You pull your blows when I'm around. If you could recognize which way I was going to jump, you wouldn't have to, and then we'd never need to worry about my losing a limb. Just don't try it with Isabela," she warned, "we have different tells. Again?"

Eventually, he set aside his sword, simply concentrating on judging which way Hawke was going to jump by the way she shifted her weight. By the end of the evening, her hair clung to her face in sweaty clumps, and she was half-breathless. Sometime earlier, she'd set aside her chain and leather chestplate, and she tugged at the laces of her tunic again, pulling at it so it hung loose. He watched a bead of sweat trail down her neck and disappear. "I think-" his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat before continuing, "I think we have made as much progress as possible this evening."

Nodding, she swept her hair back from her face again, "I think I agree. If only because I need a bath." Grinning, she asked, "Next week?"

Bending, Fenris picked up her armor and knives, proffering them to her, "It would be my pleasure, Hawke. Have a good evening."


	9. Awkward Assignment

(As always, nothing belongs to me; I'm just playing with Bioware's property.)

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><p>"Alright. Here's what we're doing." Now that they were outside the city walls, Hawke spent a moment smoothing out a map, tracing a finger down the path they were to take. "We just have to take this patrol and make sure the coast is clear when we're followed. Easiest work this month."<p>

"Hawke," Fenris frowned, eyeing the map for a moment, "why are we taking a guard's patrol?"

Varric's laugh earned him a nasty look from their partner, "You mean you didn't tell Broody what we were doing?"

"I told him we were running a patrol. We're running a patrol."

Isabela's laugh rang out, "Oh, this is delightful! It's like a present."

"Isabela!"

"I do not understand. What is going on?" Fenris looked at Hawke, who was glaring at the pirate and actually blushing.

Leaning against one of the rocks, Varic shook his head, "Hawke has us playing matchmaker for our dear guard captain and the charming Donnic. At the dear guard captain's request."

"We are doing what?"

Sighing, Hawke rerolled the map and stuffed it roughly into her belt. "Aveline asked us to clear the way so that she and Donnic could talk while on patrol. We get to keep whatever we find, no questions asked. If that isn't enough to cover your time, I'll pay you myself. Come on."

As she moved to brush past him, he reached out, catching her arm, "Hawke," he assured her, "you have my sword; I merely wondered what we were doing." Shifting his sword, he nodded for her to lead the way. For a long moment, she stared at him, stared at the hand he'd caught her arm with, a searching expression on her face. It was only under her gaze that he realized what he'd done. It had been... instinct. Shaken, he fell into easy step beside her as she marched off.

They'd paused to clean the blood from their armor, and because this spot offered a good vantage point over the patrol path below. Isabela lay on her stomach, ear cocked down towards the pair below, "Are we sure she was married before? To a man?"

"Isabela," Hawke scolded, "that's Aveline."

Snorting, Varric pointed out, "It is a rather awkward performance."

"I think it's cute," tucking away the rag she'd been using to clean her knives, Hawke began stretching, as if their fight hadn't warmed her up enough.

"It's sad," the pirate corrected, standing and brushing herself off, "time to move on?" Taking a moment to straighten her tunic and tuck away her blades, Isabela smirked, "See something you like, lanky?" She made a show of needlessly running her hands over her hips, watching Fenris where he lounged on one of the rocks.

Slowly, the elf shifted his gaze to the pirate. "No," he said calmly, pushing himself to his feet.

Finishing her stretch, Hawke poked Isabela in the small of the back, "Enough. We have work to do."

* * *

><p>The next time they stopped, Isabela had gotten Varric down to listen with her. "This is good, Hawke. I'm going to have to remember some of these lines."<p>

Perking up, Hawke asked, "It's getting better, then? See, I told you it was cute." She was seated besides Fenris, nibbling on a hard piece of bread.

"Oh no," the dwarf said, chuckling, "I'm thinking of trying my hand at comedy, next."

"Would the two of you leave her alone?"

"I thought that this was Aveline's plan?" Fenris asked in a low voice. "It does not seem to be going well."

"I think Hawke is right," Isabela said, "it is cute. Like a sad, three-legged puppy."

"I don't think any of you have a romantic bone in your body," grumbling, Hawke climbed to her feet. "Aveline is just a little... rusty."

"Rusty? I don't think that gate's been breached in years. The fortifications must be-"

"Isabela," Hawke said her name sharply, "that's enough. Aveline is our friend."

The pirate shrugged as she swaggered over to Hawke's side, "I'm just saying, that's what happens if you let yourself get out of practice."

Snorting, Fenris raised an eyebrow at her, "You would be the expert on that kind of 'practice'."

"I'm not the only one, right Hawke?" When the other woman refused to meet her eyes, she pressed, "Come on, Hawke, how long has it been? Hawke."

"I haven't opened that gate since I worked with Athenril. I have some sympathy," she replied coolly. "I would appreciate it if you kept your comments to yourself."

Picking up one of their bags and slinging it over his shoulder, Varric said helpfully, "For what it's worth, that's not how it is in the stories I've been telling." When she turned to glare at him, he held his hands up placatingly, "Alright, alright. Kidding. Mostly," the last was said in a low enough voice that she could pretend she hadn't heard.

Appalled, Isabela caught Hawke's hand, "But Hawke, that's been... years. Just tell me, was it Athenril? Because I have been trying to get to that elf," she gave one of her naughty little grins and an exagerrated shiver.

"I'm not talking about it," she pushed her hair back from her face irritably, "so drop it, Isabela." When the pirate continued to look at her beseechingly, she broke, "It wasn't Athenril."

"Drat. I could have had you suggest a threesome. You know, Hawke, if you're ever looking for a way to burn off some of that energy..." Teasingly, she snaked an arm around the other woman's waist, pulling them closer together.

"No, Isabela," she said firmly.

"Oh, come on," the pirate reached a hand up, her finger just a hair's breadth from caressing the other woman's lips when it suddenly stopped. With a look of surprised pain on her face, she turned to Fenris.

"She said 'no'," once he was sure he had her attention, he released her wrist.

Rubbing at the marks his gauntlet had left on her skin, Isabela pouted, "None of you are any fun."

Beginning to walk down the path, Varric called back, "Come on, Rivaini, where do you think Hawke gets all that energy to find work to keep 6 mercenaries busy? And save the city, and run errands for the Viscount, and do work for visiting dignitaries..."

Grateful for the at least partial change in subject, Hawke started walking again, eyeing the afternoon sunlight. Time to pick up the pace, unless they wanted Aveline and Donnic beating them to the last checkpoint.

Still rubbing her wrist, Isabela watched Fenris move to fall into step beside Hawke with knowing eyes. As she started walking, she smirked.

* * *

><p>"Who kicks someone in the back of the knee?" The rogue was sitting on the ground, looking indignant as Isabela probed at her injured limb.<p>

"Um, Hawke, you do. Nearly daily," Varric pointed out helpfully as he inspected Bianca for damage.

"Well... I don't make them walk around on it, afterwards," she defended, gritting her teeth as Isabela took a hold of her boot.

"I think you dislocated it. Fenris, would you mind holding her?"

His head snapped up, "What?"

"Hold onto her shoulders so I can pull her leg straight?" Isabela explained innocently, "It'll hurt."

Reluctantly, Fenris knelt behind Hawke, putting his hands lightly on her shoulders.

"Tighter, or I'm going to have to do this more than once," the pirate said in a singing voice, waiting until she saw the elf take a firmer grip before she pulled on the boot in her hand, straightening the awkwardly bent knee.

Gritting her teeth against the urge to cry out, Hawke spent a long moment leaning back against Fenris's legs. Letting her breath out in a hiss, she said, "Looks like a visit to the clinic tonight." For just a moment, the hold on her shoulders tightened, then the support behind her disappeared as Fenris stood.

"Looks like show time." Varric called out a warning.

"Help me up," wincing against the burn in her knee, Hawke let Isabela haul her to her feet, leaning on the other woman and downing half a potion. Just in time, she was able to take a step away, meeting the guardsmen.

"Hawke. What a surprise. What are you doing here?"

"Aveline," she gave an exasperated sigh.

"Hawke, don't."

The guardswoman's pleas fell on deaf ears, however. "No, I think you'll come around."

Hawke wasn't the only one tired of this game, and the dwarf turned his attention to Donnic. "Shall I draw a picture of where she'd like to touch you?" Varric volunteered helpfully.

That, however, was a little cruder than Hawke had intended. "Varric, that wasn't helpful."

She turned back to Aveline, but she couldn't dredge up any shame as the Captain scolded her, and she made no effort to stop the woman when she went to stalk off. "Well. You heard her. Double-time." In an awkward, limping gate, the rogue moved to follow.

It took hours to make it back to Kirkwall, and even the healing potion hadn't done enough to make the journey anything like pleasant. Hawke bore it stoicly, the presence of Isabela and Fenris on either side keeping her up when she did stumble. The fifth time she slid into Fenris, however, the elf cursed.

"I'm sorry," she apologized.

"It is fine," shaking his head, he let her steady herself against his arm.

"At least you aren't glowing," Isabela noted cheerfully, "the last thing we need is any bandits left coming down on us." Frowning at her words, Hawke looked at Fenris from the corner of her eye, but his expression told nothing.

"When I tell this story," Varric declared, panting slightly under the weight of their bags, "I will leave out the drunken-style stumbling."

"Much appreciated."


	10. Immovable Objects

(As always, nothing belongs to me; I'm just playing with Bioware's property. This chapter, again, has much more dialogue stolen from the game than I'd like, and just as much cut out or re-written.)

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><p>Orana's knock on the door was timid, but Hawke was beginning to suspect there was nothing she did that wasn't. "Mistress Hawke, you have a visitor."<p>

Sighing, Hawke eyed herself in the mirror. The short robe wasn't exactly the most appropriate outfit for entertaining guests, and the elf was nearly shaking with nervousness that implied it wasn't one of the friends she'd been introduced to. Maker's breath, if it was another noble's flunky, or worse, the Viscount's, she wasn't sure what she was going to do.

Reaching for her clothing, Hawke paused, scowling. It was late, and she was tired. She'd sat in Fenris's decrepit mansion for hours again tonight, only leaving when she'd found herself drifting off to sleep in front of his cold fireplace. It had been two days since the elf had stormed off and left them. Someone had been to the mansion; she'd seen signs of someone moving the elf's meager possessions and could only hope it had been him, but she'd seen no sign of him himself. He'd threatened to leave; sworn he would move on if she wouldn't help him on his mission of vengeance, but she had. He couldn't have left after that, but the longer he was missing, the tighter the knot in her chest wound.

So no, she wasn't in the mood to cater to whatever supplicant had come to her for help this time. Tightening the belt of her robe, she opened the door, "Thank you, Orana." The timid elven woman followed at her heels as she went down the stairs.

"Master Fenris wouldn't go to the sitting room, mistress," she said.

That stopped Hawke in her tracks. He was the visitor? Considering how the slave-turned-servant had met him, at least that explained her fear. "That will be all for the evening, thank you, Orana. You're dismissed," she added, in case it was not clear. Then, pulling her robe down unnecessarily, she entered the entryway. "Fenris."

He straightened when the door opened, "I have been thinking about what happened with Hadriana. You and I don't always see eye to eye, but that doesn't mean you deserve my anger. I owe you an apology."

"That's it? An apology?" The coil of fear suddenly flared into white hot anger, and she gestured at him in frustration, "All I want is an explanation. What happened there Fenris? What were you thinking?"

"When I was a slave, Hadriana was a torment. She would ridicule me, deny my meals, hound my sleep. Because of her status, I was powerless to respond, and she knew it-"

He wanted to say more, but she cut him off, "So that was what, payback? You gave her your word, Fenris." There was a snarl in her voice as she said his name and none of the warmth it usually held.

"And what would you have me do?" As always, his anger rose to match hers, an equal and compliment to her own that did nothing to diffuse the situation. "Hadriana came after me! I have never had the option to simply walk away. Am I supposed to forgive, no matter how many times they hunt me down? Am I supposed to forget everything they've done to me?"

Taking a step forward, she made him meet her eyes, snarling, "You're supposed to be better than them. The Fenris I know is better than they are."

"As if you have never lied. I've seen you, Hawke. You'll lie when it serves your missions, your goals, or your whim. And the pirate? The dwarf? Why am I to be held at such higher standards?" Angrily, he jerked his head, flinging his bangs away from his eyes.

"That's different." Frowning, she stared at him, unable to put words to the frustration and unease his actions had caused.

"How?"

"You gave *me* your word," if she'd stopped to think, she'd have smothered the words, but they were out before she could, "are you going to turn on me, too?" It was fear born from an alcohol fueled conversation, a fear born of the first trust he'd shown her.

"Hawke..." He looked away.

Ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach, she pressed, "You may not wear chains anymore, but you're not free."

"You know nothing of being a slave," his gesture was so violent that she flinched back, fearing the strike of his gauntlets. "It's a sickness, this hate. This dark growth inside me that I can't ever get rid of, and they put it there!"

"And that is why they still own you! You're stronger than they are, Fenris, you don't have to play on their level." her voice dropped, pleading with him to see it with her.

Instead, he turned away, looking down at the floor, that same, subservient gesture that bothered her so. "This... isn't why I came here."

"Fenris... why can't you just let me help you?" She reached out, but paused a moment before she touched his arm, fearing his reaction. He didn't stop, didn't turn back.

Over his shoulder, he gave a last parting command, "Stop sitting in my mansion, Hawke. If I want to talk to you, I'll find you."

Frustrated, she sat down on the bench he'd vacated, putting her head in her hands. She didn't look up as quiet, familiar footsteps entered the room. When the soft hand fell on her shoulder, she only clenched her hands into fists around her hair.

"I heard yelling." Gently, Leandra Amell took her daughter's hands into her own, taking a seat beside her on the bench. "Are you alright?"

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she turned, forcing a shaky smile for her mother. "Sometimes I wonder how Fenris and I keep from killing each other."

Leandra gave a small, delicate snort, "Is that how you think it will end?"

Hawke looked up, distracted from her self pity by confusion, "What do you mean?"

Freeing one hand to stroke her daughter's face, she smiled, "Nothing. Why don't you come with me to the Chantry tomorrow. I think you need a little time off, and I've hardly seen you lately."

Closing her eyes, Hawke felt her mother's warm lips on her forehead, smelled the soothingly familiar scent of her perfume. For a moment, she leaned against the frailer woman, taking comfort in the ability to lean on someone else, just for a moment, for such an inconsequential reason. Then, composing herself, she straightened, "Only if you promise not to try to set me up with chantry brothers."

"There is this one handsome archer..."

"Mother!"

It had been a very long time since Hawke had sat through Chantry services. Only a handful of times since they'd come to Kirkwall had she been persuaded by her mother to join her, and never since Bethany was taken. The woman leading the chant had a good voice for it, but it was all Hawke could do not to doze off as she sat there beside her mother. Of course, part of that might have been how late she'd sat up the night before, staring out the window and down at the streets of Hightown. A few times, she'd thought she'd caught movement in the courtyard outside, and her watching had kept her up until the sky was starting to lighten.

"Marian?" Seeing the way her daughter jumped, Leandra raised an eyebrow, "Are you with me?"

"Yes, of course, mother." Looking around, Hawke realized that the worshippers around them were rising to their feet and leaving. Fighting a blush, she stood to fall in step beside her mother. For once, the rogue was not wearing armor, and she had only a small knife strapped to each ankle. The crowd flowed around them without a second glance as they moved to the exit.

It was only as they neared the door that someone called out, "Serah Hawke!" A murmur went through the crowd as a man in shining white armor pushed his way through. "Serah Hawke, if I may have a moment?"

Turning, Hawke stared at the man for a moment, recognition dawning. "Your highness."

"Please," he said, "Sebastian. I was wondering if I could talk to you. After what you did for me, I wanted-"

"Marian, you didn't mention you knew the chantry brother. How did you meet?" Leandra gave her daughter a disapproving look, though Hawke could only imagine it was that she hadn't told her mother she knew a prince, not that she suspected how they had met.

Nodding her acquiescence, she said, "Sebastian, then. I was just escorting my mother home. If you don't mind waiting..."

Drawing back, the prince looked the older woman over as if noticing her for the first time. "Pardon me, mistress Hawke." He reached out to take Leandra's hand, bowing over it.

With a gentle smile, Leandra corrected, "It's Leandra Amell, not Hawke, Prince."

"Ah, that is a noble family of Kirkwall, if I remember correctly?"

"Yes. While my daughter would rather not make a fuss about it, she does have her own noble roots." Rather pointedly, she elbowed her daughter towards the archer.

Sighing, Hawke gave Sebastian a pleading look, "May I meet with you later? I'd like to get my mother home before we discuss... business."

"Of course. My apologies, serah." Awkwardly, he moved away from the pair.

Taking her mother's arm firmly, Hawke guided her from the Chantry, bracing herself for the inevitable-

"You never mentioned you knew him. They say he's the prince of Starkhaven."

"Yes, mother."

"He's very handsome."

Rolling her eyes, Hawke suppressed a smile, "Very, mother."

"And that accent!"

With a long-suffering sigh, her daughter said, "I thought we agreed you wouldn't try to set me up with Chantry brothers."

"I never agreed to that," Leandra sniffed.

* * *

><p>AN: I appreciate the comments and the favs. This is more than a little self-indulgence on my part, to be writing a 'story' with no plot, and I'm glad to know I'm not the only one entertained. Also, apologies for the delay. This was not the scene that was meant to go here, but the other piece I did was just too much rehashing game conversations.


	11. Just Another Job

(As always, nothing belongs to me; I'm just playing with Bioware's property.)

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><p>When she returned to the Chantry, she was wearing her armor, the familiar weight of her knives at the back of her shoulders. Now, people recognized her, the rising star of the city, but she'd long grown used to ignoring the looks and murmurs of the people of Hightown. Her gaze was steady and unwavering as she went to the Chantry.<p>

The brother had been waiting for her, true to his word, though the job he had given her was not as she would have expected, after their previous exchange. "Just bodyguard work?" she asked, almost disappointed at the ease of the task before her.

"If you feel that is beneath you-"

"No." She shook her head quickly, "it is simply a surprise, after our previous... acquaintance."

He looked away, unable to meet her steady gaze, "Recent revelations have lead me to reconsider my previous... bloodthirsty actions. I wish to resolve these matters peacefully, but I am no fool, to go in trusting."

Nodding, Hawke said, "You know that I do not work alone. My skills do not lend themselves to bodyguard work," reaching up, she put one hand on the hilt of a smooth-handled knife.

"I trust that you will assemble what companions you deem appropriate," Sebastian said, obviously relieved at this deviation of subject.

It would have to be Aveline, she reflected. Bodyguard work was about intimidation, and she and Isabela made a poor picture as far as that was concerned. Her first choice would be to have two swords, for this, but- she shook her head, banishing her thoughts.

"Serah Hawke?"

"Please, just Hawke, Sebastian," he had given her his name, and so she would use it. "We can have our social call tomorrow, if you wish."

That made him stiffen suddenly in his seat, "So soon? I know you are a busy woman. I do not wish to put you-"

"We are between jobs, at the moment. If that is all, I must inform my companions."

"Allow me to see you out," when he offered her his arm, it was with all the grace of a courtier and none of the reserve of a Chantry brother.

He smelled like... feathers, and some other, subtle scent that she could not name. Did beeswax have a scent? She couldn't remember from her time talking to Varric while he tended Bianca. Forcing her thoughts to more coherency than her tired mind wanted to indulge in, she blurted, "Why me?"

Clearing his throat, the exiled prince paused at the end of the aisle way, "I had been hoping to meet with you since your return. It is merely fortune that you came to the Chantry this day. I would have expected to see the famous mercenary of Kirkwall in the Chantry more often." There was a gentle reproach in his voice.

Firmly, Hawke said, "I do not need the reminders of the Chant to know where my duties lie. If you intend to preach to me, prince, tell me now."

"Of course not. I have no right to, at the moment," he admitted, "I have not retaken my vows."

"Oh?"

"A conversation for another time, perhaps. I shall send my message and look forward to meeting with you on the morrow," he released her arm with a bow.

* * *

><p>It was an hour before Aveline could see her, but Hawke was familiar enough with the guards in her service that she could pass the time on dice and gossip. Donnic was the butt of no few jokes, and the guard looked relieved when his captain finally appeared in the doorway, freeing him from the jokes and jeers of his companions.<p>

Retreating to her office, Aveline raised an eyebrow at Hawke, "Work, finally? I was beginning to think you didn't appreciate my company."

"You're a busy woman," Hawke said lightly, carefully sliding aside some papers to lean on Aveline's desk.

"Is Fenris still missing?" When the rogue refused to meet her eyes, Aveline swore quietly, "It's been a week, Hawke. Do you think he might be gone for-"

"Three days."

"What?"

With an awkward smile, Hawke shrugged, "I talked to him three days ago. Two nights ago, actually."

"And." Somehow, it never seemed as if Aveline's questions really were; there was far too much air of command. There was a creak of armor, and when she finally looked up, Hawke was unsurprised to see that she'd crossed her arms.

"He's still in Kirkwall." Taking a smaller knife from a sheath on her belt, Hawke began studiously trimming her nails.

Sighing, Aveline relaxed her posture, "That bad, huh?"

"He told me to stop sitting in his mansion. I assume that means he's sticking around, at least." Flexing her hand, she studied her work.

"You left it like that?"

The voice was better suited to a training field than to a private conversation between friends, Hawke thought, sourly. "He told me he would find me. I didn't want to push him."

"Hawke."

Even before she met Aveline's gaze, Hawke knew what was going to come out of her friend's mouth. Before she said it, she was struck by the impulse to hit her friend for it. Sighing, she forced herself to look over.

"Sometimes friends push."

The impulse lasted for nearly a second before Hawke visibly deflated, dropping her little paring knife to her side. "You didn't talk to him. It's... a delicate situation."

"Says you," Aveline said, snorting.

"Exactly." Hawke met her gaze earnestly, "Just think how bad a situation has to be before I think it's too delicate to push."

Defeated, the guard held up her hands, "Alright. What's the work?"

"Remember the Starkhaven Prince playing at being a Chantry brother?"

Scowling, Aveline asked, "Was that the job killing the mercenaries?" At Hawke's nod, she shook her head, "I was always uncomfortable with that job. Who does he want us to kill now?"

"Hopefully, no one," she made no effort to hide her relief that Aveline was so easily dissuaded. "It's bodyguard work. A little beneath us, but he sought me out and requested us specifically."

"Requested 'us'?" Aveline's arms crossed again.

"Well. Whoever I decided. You're a better choice than Isabela. The only one she'd be likely to intimidate is the Chantry brother."

"Since when do you care what our employers think?"

It was a valid point; it might be entertaining to see the pirate and the prince in his immaculate white holy armor. Hawke spent a moment pondering that, and her lips twisted into the first real smile of the day.

"Oh no. Forget I said anything."

"What?" Her expression was the picture of innocence.

"It's never good when you get that look on your face. When do you need my sword?"

"Are you free at all tomorrow?"

Aveline didn't have to think about it, "Not in the morning. How long do you expect this bodyguarding to take?"

"It should be quick, once I tell our employer. Thank you, Aveline."

"Mmm. Boring work for us. At least it's a good body to be guarding."

Hawke caught the wicked look on the red-haired guard's face, and she smiled back, "What would Donnic say?"

"Oh, get out, you. Go bother someone else."

Impishly, Hawke blew the guard a kiss before she ducked out the door.

There was work tomorrow, her mother had been pleased by her this morning... it wasn't a bad day, all told. Varric should be at the Hanged Man, and Isabela. It was a good day to get roaring drunk.

* * *

><p>AN: Warning, the next chapter earns every bit of the mature rating.


	12. Irresistable Forces

(As always, nothing belongs to me; I'm just playing with Bioware's property.)

A/N: Warning for mature ideas and situations ahead, including some touchy subject matter involving abuse. Read at your own discretion.

* * *

><p>She is only in the other room when she hears the outer door opening. Assuming no thief would be so brazen as to walk in the front door, she rises from her book to go to the entryway empty-handed. That it is him waiting there should be a relief, or at least a surprise, but she finds that it is neither, as if she has been expecting nothing but this these last few nights. Saying nothing, she simply waits, for the explanation, the argument, the accusations.<p>

He begins as she would have, had she given herself leave to speak, "I have been thinking of you. In fact, I have been able to think of little else." Her heart speeds in her chest with some mix of hope and fear as he stalks towards her. "Command me to go, and I shall."

"Command you?" The sudden burn of rage surprises her, and she steps towards him, "Are you my dog now? Should I have you sit at my feet? Should I get a leash for you?" It doesn't matter that her mother is asleep upstairs and her trio of servants in nearby rooms as she snarls at him. That he won't meet her eyes is the deepest insult of all, and she reaches out to grab his arm, to force him to tell her why he's behaving like this. Why they must have this terrifying reversal of their usual argument.

The sudden glow of the lyrium is blinding, and she feels herself impact the wall before her mind registers that he's lunged for her. His eyes are still turned away from her, and as he leans back, she snarls, pulling on him by the grip she still held on his arm, despite the flash of lyrium that burns her palm.

She's not certain whose lips move first, but she knows it's her who flings him against the wall in her place, and her kisses are hungry and wanting as she pins him there, eyes closed against the burn of tears that she can't explain. For a moment, he is still, and she feels the first touch of actual terror that she has gone too far this time before his hands come up around her, clawed gauntlets tangling in her hair and snagging on the delicate fabric of her robe.

Her eyes flutter open and she realizes that he's staring at her, and it seems that she can feel his heartbeat speeding, as if it echoed through the lyrium marks under her hand. Knowing they hurt him, she tries to find a place she can put her hands without touching them, even as her mind starts to cloud with the undeniable want of him.

One of his hands goes to her hip, and he tries to coax her closer, farther up his body, but their positions do not suit the motion, and they are turning again. This time, her shoulder hits a picture hanging on the wall, and it crashes to the floor, but it doesn't matter, because his hands are beneath her thighs and she can feel him, through his armor and her robe.

He growls, low in his throat, as she puts an arm around the back of his neck, but he doesn't pull away, savaging her with lips and bruising grips. He is fumbling with the tie on her robe when they hear a squeak and both break away in an instant.

Orana stands in the doorway, a hand over her mouth, either in horror, or in an attempt to smother the disrupting sound she's let escape. "I'm sorry, mistress! Goodnight!"

Even if her mistress had been trying to think of something to say, the young elf girl is gone before her brain can do more than snarl at the sudden cessation of feelings. Suddenly, the hands supporting her thighs are gone, and she is slipping to the floor on shaky legs.

"No!" Her hand on the back of his neck tightens, keeping their faces close, and she says, "My room." It's not a command, or a question, more of a plea.

Then, he is on her again, and they stumble over each other as they make it to the stairs; she is fumbling his armor loose as he pulls away her robe to bare her shoulder, which he sets his teeth on hard enough to hurt as he herds her backwards up the stairs, her hip following the wall.

Something from the wall crashes to the floor, but she doesn't care as they reach the landing, and she drags him through the dark house, towards the doorway to her bedroom as another one of the house's doors opens. It doesn't matter that Leandra is a bare few steps from seeing her daughter savaging the mouth of an elf as she fumbles behind her for the door handle. It doesn't matter what it is that Orana says to keep the woman from investigating; all that matters is that the door is open now, and they are through, and now the robe can be thrown aside and the armor pulled off with frantic fingers.

She succeeds in liberating him from his strange chestpiece, and one gauntlet is already gone. The other is at her back, and the clawed finger tips send shivers up her spine as he runs them gently over her tender skin. The light of his lyrium is blinding when she runs her hands over his bare chest, and she draws back, her mind clearing enough to ask, "Does that hurt?"

"No."

She ignores the lie in his voice in favor of the want in his breathing and the tremble of his body. Kissing him again, she runs her hands down his torso, surprised that she can still feel the hum of the lyrium lines, though he glows no longer. When her hands reach the barrier of his waistband, she growls against the skin of his throat, and it is worth all the frustration in the world to hear his answering chuckle vibrating up through his chest.

Obligingly, he rids himself of the rest of his armor, then spends a moment assuaging his own curiosity, trailing kisses down her throat and over her chest. He does not stop, as she had, when he reaches her breastband, seeming fascinated by the way her nipples tighten even with the fabric between her skin and his lips. The hand at her back tightens, and he snaps the fabric with a jerk that makes her flinch involuntarily, the strip of fabric fluttering down between them.

The support of his hand on her back is all that keeps her from swooning as his mouth returns to her breast with starved intensity. His kisses have become almost bruising, and she feels the quivering tension in the muscles on his back when she finally reaches to guide his lips back to her own. "Relax," she whispers soothingly in his ear before brushing her lips against the delicate point, "we have all night."

Free to explore now, her hands trace the humming lines down his abdomen, dipping lower in slow, wandering motions. She can feel him against her as her fingers finally brush the base of his length, and she smiles as she wraps her hand around him, stroking- a surprised sound escapes her as his fingers tighten around her wrist in a grip that grinds her bones together.

"Do not... touch me... like that." The trembling she can feel has changed, and again, his eyes are to the side, staring at the floor, not her face.

She knows something is wrong then, but does not care. Twining her arms around his neck again, she murmurs, "Then you touch me." Resuming where they left off downstairs, he puts his hands beneath her thighs, lifting and supporting her when she wraps her legs around his narrow hips.

He carries her across the room, pressing her back against the neatly made bed. His hands are wandering, his touch hesitant and light, and she makes a small, frustrated noise as she kneads the muscles of his shoulders and back, urging him on. A long time ago, he told her that he had never done this before, but his hands seem to know what they are doing as they ghost over her hips, her thighs, and cup the heat between them.

Reaching down, she takes his hand in her own, lacing her fingers through his almost tenderly, and he is distracted, looking towards their joined hands bemusedly. But then she is twisting beneath him, heaving up with wiry grace to flip him, for once grateful of the indulgent size of her bed. Pressing their still-linked hands against the mattress beside his head, she straddles his hips, beginning to lower herself down as she smiles triumphantly.

But now he is not watching her, his eyes are screwed shut, and as she feels a violent shudder run through the body beneath her, she sees fear on his face. His hand in her own has gone limp, and he's let the other fall to his side, passive, and the desperate, intoxicating spell is broken.

"Fenris."

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, turning his head to see Hawke curled on the bed beside his head, resting her chin on her knees. Her hair was still mused from his fumbling, her lips half parted and swollen, and he could still see the light sheen of sweat on her collarbone, but she'd gone still, regarding him with too-knowing blue eyes. For once, it seemed he understood her without any words at all. "I'm fine," he lied for the second time that night.

"Who did this to you?" Her voice held all the hard command it did on the battlefield.

"It does not matter." He couldn't meet her gaze and focused instead on her hands, watching as she stopped hugging her knees and clenched her fists so hard they trembled.

"Was it her, or was it him?" Hawke was careful not to say the names here, but she couldn't keep the fury from her voice. For the first time, she longed for Denarius to come for Fenris, though her means of removing his heart would be much slower than the elf's.

"She was his apprentice," he sat up slowly, seeming to register his nudity for the first time as he crossed his legs, "her torments were but a shadow of his." Turning, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, "I should go." The shame and fury that this was taken from him as well was a hard lump in his chest.

Hesitantly, Hawke shifted to her knees and reached to put a hand on his shoulder, "If you need to, you can go. But I don't... want you to." The kiss she placed on his neck was timid and chaste. "I'll do... or won't do... whatever you want." When he didn't pull away, she smiled wryly against his neck, "No more rogue flips and tricks."

Turning around, he looked at her for a long moment, his eyes darting across her body and away before locking with her own. This was Hawke, the maddening, demanding, insane woman who had gone out of her way to help him; who had never tried to hurt him. Holding out his hand, palm up, he said, "Your hands," when she placed them willingly in his own, he threaded his long fingers through hers, holding them together and raising them above her head, "stay here." Gently, he pressed her back against the rumpled blanket, trapping her hands above her head.

"Whatever you want," fearlessly, she met his gaze, lips parting invitingly.

Unable to resist, he leaned over her, starting at her lips and kissing his way down her throat as his free hand began to wander again. When she showed no fear or hesitation, his motions became more confident as he went from straddling her to kneeling between her thighs. By the time he released her hands to brace himself firmly above her, he didn't even register any pain when her freed hands moved to grip his lyrium lined shoulders and her body bowed beneath him.

Hawke didn't awaken until the bed beside her had cooled. At first, she simply groped beside her blindly. Finding nothing, she sat up, spotting Fenris leaning against her mantle. Forcing a laugh and pretending his answer wouldn't shatter her, she asked, "Was it that bad?"

* * *

><p>AN I spent far too long thinking about why Hawke might say 'Was it that bad', no matter what romance or what personality (at least that I've seen). Never is it 'Was I that bad'.<p> 


	13. Reversion

(As always, nothing belongs to me; I'm just playing with Bioware's property.)

* * *

><p>"Hawke!" Aveline looked up as the woman slipped in, "You're a little early; I have to wait for a patrol to get back."<p>

"I know," she shut the door gently behind her, starting a slow pace around the edge of the room. "I thought maybe we could talk before we headed out."

"Has something about the job changed? I need to get some of this wrapped up." When Hawke reached out to pick up one of the reports, the redhead caught her wrist.

"No, I just wanted to- ow!" The sharp reminder of bruises on her wrist startled an exclamation from her.

It was a more violent reaction than Aveline had been anticipating, and she frowned, pushing Hawke's sleeve up. With a sympathetic hiss, she said, "Hawke! What happened?"

Jerking her hand away, Hawke blushed hotly, quickly covering the marks of fingertips bruising her wrist, "Nothing."

"Hawke."

It was that tone of voice that the rogue tried to emulate when she shouted orders on the battlefield, and she found herself responding to it. "Fenris is... still in the city."

A scowl appeared on Aveline's face, "He did that to you? Did you two have a fight?" Carefully, she piled the reports into the middle of her desk, giving the other woman her full attention and trying a stiff joke, "Would you like me to have him arrested?"

Shaking her head, Hawke leaned against the desk, "No. We didn't have a fight."

"Alright. So he bruised you and it wasn't a fight," her voice was patiently disbelieving. "Then what was it?"

"I... pushed." At Aveline's impossibly raised eyebrow, Hawke sighed, "It didn't go well. He left in the middle of the night." She slumped dejectedly against the desk.

The sound of the chair scraping against the floor was loud as Aveline rose, going to stand next to Hawke's side. "I'm sorry," she put her hand on the rogue's shoulder, snorting when she winced again. Tugging the shorter woman's collar aside, she looked at her shoulder and rolled her eyes, "Why am I not surprised?"

Pulling away, Hawke gave Aveline an only slightly forced smile, "It's not your fault. I just think you'll be my sword for a few weeks. Give things a chance to settle down." And give her a chance to forget the less awkward parts of the evening before- like just how she'd gotten a bruise on her shoulder.

"As much as I can help. Do you think he'll be staying in the city?" That seemed to surprise the guard.

This time, when Hawke laughed, it was genuine, and she went around the desk, flinging herself with wild abandon into the chair. "Now, Aveline, I'm flattered, but a bad night with me has never, and I hope will never, make someone flee an entire city," careful to avoid the papers, she propped her boots on the desk.

Giving the rogue just enough warning to get ready to catch herself, Aveline jerked the chair out from under her, "What if one of my men comes in and sees that?"

"You'll growl and bluster and have them toss me out into the street?" Hawke suggested cheerfully, "I think you'd have a few volunteers; I've been playing cards with some of them.

With a resigned sigh, Aveline retook her seat, "Don't get caught cheating my men."

"Aveline!" Putting a hand over her heart, she gave her best wounded look, "'Cheating' is such an ugly word. I am just exceptionally lucky. It's almost a requirement in my line of work."

"You're lucky I haven't arrested you," the guard muttered under her breath, "now let me finish this paperwork before we're ready to go."

* * *

><p>"So then, he's all 'the feather, the feather'! And this one," Isabela jabbed a thumb at the archer seated across from her, "looks like he's about ready to swallow his tongue."<p>

"Sounds like it was an interesting job," Varric said blandly, "why do I always end up walking around Dark Town, and Rivani gets to play voyeur with you. Hawke?"

Snorting into her mug, Aveline assured, "Next time, we'll bring you. It was ten minutes before she stopped complaining that we'd left too soon."

"I wanted to know what they were going to do with the feather. There are so many options," Isabela defended innocently.

Sebastian was scowling into his mug, and Hawke leaned into his shoulder, asking quietly, "Are you alright? You don't have to stay."

Turning, he stared at her uncomfortably close face for a moment, before shaking his head, "I don't feel right mocking what happened to the Harimann's. Do you do this after every job?"

After the relatively bloodless mission, they'd been in high spirits, and Hawke had insisted Sebastian join them for drinks. Now, faced with his scowl and judgment, she was regretting that decision. Lowering her voice more and staying close, she said, "No. Sometimes we just come back and drink too much." Pointedly, she added, "Like when we kill another group of mercenaries."

He didn't back down, "I didn't make you take that job." They glared at each other for a moment, before he snapped his gaze back to his mug, "But your point is taken."

Nodding in satisfaction, Hawke turned back, only then realizing that silence had fallen around the table and her companions were giving her a vaguely amused look.

"Hawke," Varric said dryly, "if you start scolding our employers, we'll never get any repeat business."

Raising his voice for one of the first times that evening, Sebastian said, "Hopefully I will not be requiring your services in the future."

"Aw," Isabela pouted, leaning forward over the table and purring, "but you're just the kind of man I like servicing."

"There's a kind you don't like servicing?" Aveline asked in mock-surprise.

"Hush, you. I'm trying to lure us another pretty body. The ones we have are far too serious."

Sebastian looked to Hawke questioningly, but she only shook her head in dismay, leaving him to the pirate. "If she ever needs my bow, Hawke need only to ask," he gave a brilliant smile.

Varric snorted, taking another swig from his mug. "So that's why she brought you to this lovely establishment this evening."

Leaning forward to see around Sebastian, she said brightly, "He followed me home, can I keep him?"

"I don't know. Bianca might be jealous if someone else moved in on our work," Varric said seriously.

"Bianca?"

"Hawke!" The dwarf looked appalled, "You didn't tell him about Bianca?"

"I just don't think I could do her justice. It really is better to see her in action," Hawke said, grinning.

As the dwarf began lovingly describing the crossbow with a purple prose that had Sebastian blinking bemusedly, Aveline cleared her throat, nodding towards the door. With feigned casualness, Hawke excused herself to fetch another round of drinks, catching sight of a lithe, white-haired form backing into the stairwell.

Pretending her heart wasn't pounding nervously, Hawke left the dwarf's room. Fenris was standing at the top of the stairs, just out of sight of the doorway, now, and leaning against the wall. "Hawke." "Fenris." They spoke simultaneously. After an awkward moment, she nodded for him to go first.

"I needed to... I want..." With a quiet growl of frustration, he said, "I cannot explain-"

Hawke interrupted him there, "You don't have to. We acted rashly. I acted rashly."

A muscle twitched in Fenris's jaw, and he nodded stiffly. "I came to make certain you knew my sword was still at your service. Varric told me you were out on a job, earlier. I assume you took Aveline."

Eyes narrowing, Hawke studied his face. There was... something there, some tightening around the eyes, some expression in them. It might have been hurt. Nodding, she said, "I thought I'd give you a few days to... think."

"I have been thinking for a week," he said, stiffly, looking away. "I shall leave you to get your drinks, before Isabela comes looking for them."

"Fenris," reaching out, she put her hand on his wrist to stop him, feeling she'd earned at least that much familiarity, after what they'd done. "What happened... what you said, about memories... if you need anything, let me know."

Glancing down, he focused on the red scarf she'd tied around her wrist after Aveline had so easily noticed the bruises. Very gently, he lifted her hand from his wrist, balancing it on his own without actually holding it before using his freed hand to untie the scarf. Flinching at the sight of the bruises, he wrinkled the scarf in his fist. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Her light tone only a little forced, she ducked her head, drawing his attention up to meet her eyes, "I can handle a few bruises. Nothing's broken."

He opened his mouth to say something, then shook his head, seeming frustrated.

"Come on. Have some drinks with us. Everyone's been worried about you." Hawke jerked her head back towards the laughter spilling out of the room. "I'm going to get more drinks. If you're still here when I get back, I'm dragging you in," she threatened.

When she came back up the stairs, weighted down with mugs, Fenris was just tucking the ends of the red scarf under his gauntlet. Frowning at it, she tried to catch his gaze, but he simply took the tray away from her and walked into Varric's rooms to a chorus of greeting. Gliding in behind him, Hawke gave Aveline a helpless shrug and retook her seat.

Twice, Fenris caught her staring at her scarf around his wrist, but even as he walked her home, she didn't ask.


End file.
